Just Don't Sleep Naked

I have always been afraid of getting older, even when I was a kid. Mostly it was a fear of the unknown. As one who wants to be in control of every situation, I was apprehensive of what was to come, particularly the BIG STUFF. In my early teen years, I distinctly remember worrying about exactly how I was going to...

• Get my driver's license
• Apply to college
• Survive at college
• Find a job
• Get married
• Buy a home
• Have a baby...

Of course, I lived through all of those turning points (though I'm still questioning my decision to have a baby x2), and in retrospect it seems comical to have been afraid of them, but I definitely was anxious of growing up and getting older and what that meant I was going to have to experience, ready or not.

Recently my fear of getting older has been resurfacing, but with a different twist. Now, I am afraid of losing what I already know and I'm not referring to the turning points, but rather to the basic concept of "me." (Hold on, she's getting heavy here.)

Off the top of my head I can state that I'm afraid of roller coasters, water skiing, dancing, breaking concrete with my elbow, and putting my feet up on the dashboard of the car (only while in the passenger seat, of course). Let me clarify: I'm not afraid of doing these things, rather I'm afraid that if I don't keep doing them, or have an opportunity to do them in the very near future, I may never do them again. Got that?

Case in point. Sleeping naked. Once you quit doing that, you can never go back without frightening yourself, your partner, your children, or the UPS man.

I think my current aging fears are my Dad's fault (remember, it's best to always blame someone else for your problems). Dad's 72 years old but he looks about 60 and acts about 50. Despite being retired for years, he still works when called by his former employer (cause he's so damn good at what he does). When he's not working for the company, he's in his wood shop building some amazing piece of furniture or whatnot. When he's not in his wood shop he's doing yard work, chopping down trees, or fixing something for the neighbors. When he's not otherwise engaged, in the summertime he's on the boat, fishing, crabbing or cleaning it, and in the fall and winter he's 25 feet up in a tree hunting deer. If none of these are a viable option, he's sleeping. For good reason. I'm exhausted just thinking about his activity level.

Recently, however, my dad has had a few setbacks. In the past few weeks he has sliced open his leg with a chainsaw cutting down a tree limb for a friend (9 stitches). He damaged a tendon or muscle in his bicep climbing up a tree with his tree stand. And he caught his arm on the lathe in his wood shop, destroying a new shirt and breaking his watch, but thankfully leaving his arm intact. And did I mention he lost his brand new hearing aid in the woods?

One might suggest to Dad that it's time to find new, less dangerous and strenuous activities, but I know better than to make such a recommendation. Wood working, welding, helping others, hunting, these things bring my dad joy. No, actually, they keep him alive. I know he can't imagine slowing down and trading in his old life for a more age-appropriate one.

So, Freakin' Angels, let's take a pledge to continue living life as we know it. Let's sing and embarrass our children. Let's dance in our pjs in the kitchen. Let's make fun at rich, well-dressed women with botox injections. Let's eat pie, drink milkshakes, and toast our friendships with many bottles of wine.

Only promise to never sleep naked, just in case I decide to stop over for breakfast...

A Sexual Awakening, or Two, on Glee

"Glee" got lucky this week. ("And so did a number of its characters," she said smartly.) Were it not for the shocking revelations coming out of State College, PA, the FOX TV show's November 8 story line might have created a hailstorm of controversy.

If you're not a Glee watcher or know nothing about the program, let me quickly summarize it for you. It's about a bunch of diverse high school students who have two things in common: 1) they're in the Glee club -- a singing/dancing performance group, and 2) they're all outcasts of one sort or another. The show routinely tackles some difficult subjects, not the least of which includes intimacy with the opposite--or same--sex. I could write a whole post on the angles from which "relations" have been addressed, but today I want to focus on this most recent episode.

The show begins with two of Glee's stars (Rachel and Blaine) finishing a rehearsal performance of their West Side Story love song in their starring roles as Maria and Tony. Despite a goose bump worthy performance (at least according to this critic), fellow student Arnie, one of the school musical's producers, suggests that it lacks passion, the passion that one can only express by recalling his or her own sexual awakening. And, if they haven't been "sexually awakened," how can they be believable in their roles? We should note that Artie, though wheelchair bound, lost his virginity in another season's episode.

With their Broadway ambitions on the line and their significant others on their minds, Rachel and Blaine decide to lose their virginity to their boyfriends (Finn and Kurt respectively). Rachel seeks counsel from the fellow Glee girls who almost universally support the idea of her and Finn consummating their relationship, (though the trouble maker in the bunch notes that he was "terrible in bed"). In fact, one of the show's most understated and seemingly rational characters, Tina, warmly reflects on how special it was to lose her virginity to her boyfriend Mike because of the true love they have for each other.

In the end, both Rachel and Finn and Kurt and Blaine go through a fair amount of apprehension and missteps, but ultimately consummate their relationships.

First, let's disregard how awkward it was to be watching this with your child. Let's instead consider the pros and cons of Glee straightforwardly addressing the topic of losing ones virginity. On the plus side:

• While Rachel and Blaine first consider taking action as a means of growing into their roles in the school musical, ultimately they recognize that this should not be the basis for losing ones virginity.
• Kurt refuses a drunken Blaine's advances and waits till it's a moment they can both be certain of.
• We know that at least Rachel and Finn use protection.
• The big moment is presented with good taste and as much modesty as possible while still getting across the point that two people are in bed and are about to or have just had sex 

Now for the cons:

• When instigator Artie mentions "sexual awakening," his two fellow adult producers, a guidance counselor and football coach, quickly display discomfort and leave the room. At no point do they engage the students in any way. No adult is involved at any point in this episode. 
• The decision is made quickly for both couples. Seemingly within the span or a day or two. It is not one that has been contemplated or reflected on in many episodes over what can be seen as a significant period of time.
• Glee is a life-changer for thousands of kids. Think I'm exaggerating? Just watch the movie, read the Facebook posts, listen to the Twitter chatter, and check out the dozens of websites created by fans. For many, Glee is a lifeline that makes them feel like they're not so different after all. A true gift during the most difficult stage in one's life.

What it comes down to is this. Glee is an 8 p.m. television show watched by millions of tweens and teens. Do I think these kids will choose to have sex because characters in a television program had sex? Yes, I do. If they're already considering losing their virginity with that beloved boyfriend or girlfriend, I completely believe that this episode can provide one of the impetuses needed to make the decision.

I don't want to know tweens and teens were having sex before this episode aired. I know kids who aren't having sex are thinking about sex. I realize it's our responsibility as parents to monitor their television viewing (easier said then done). I understand that we need to be communicating with our children about this difficult subject well before they see it on Glee (unless they're ten and you thought you still had time to get to "the talk"). But ultimately I also believe television producers have some sort of obligation to consider the message they're sending.

I did not have sex in high school (there, I said it, just in case you were wondering) and even though I was slightly older when "it" happened, I'm still not sure I was mature enough. Maybe it's because I'm a mom now, but I don't think you're emotionally and mentally read till you're about 30. Okay, 29. I'd hate to see kids (that's what they are) decide to "go all the way" with the "love of their life" (for that week, month, or even year) because a television show that they respect made it seem like the right thing to do. I hope Glee addresses the potential repercussions of this level of intimacy in future episodes, and that it won't come too late for the kids who already made their big decision.

I know you have something to say on this one, so let's see those comments.

I Went on Vacation and All I Got Was...

Some people go on vacation and come home with a t-shirt or maybe a sunburn. Me, I like to make a statement. I went to Orlando and "All I got were these Lousy Shingles." The good news is that we now know why my neck was aching for several days beforehand. And we also know I wasn't kidding about my stress level (see "Not Feeling the Love, People" and "I'm Mad as Hell"). Seems shingles are triggered by stress. Hey, when I want people to know I'm bugging out, I don't just settle for irritable and depressing blog posts. Nope. I give you physical proof! How many other bloggers do you know who would do that for you?

Since this is my first time even turning on my computer in almost a week (Wow! She really isn't herself, is she?), I'm going to keep this brief and share:

The Top 10 Things I Learned on My Trip to Orlando

10. Avoid booking a flight that arrives at your destination after midnight. That's the witching hour. Not only do you, your husband and kids start getting grumpy, tired, and short-tempered, but the folks still working in the airport become evil, especially...
9. ...Rental car agents. They're usually annoying, but they turn it up a notch when it's late, you're the only victim around, and you're half asleep. They try to rob you blind by suggesting a bigger car, insurance you don't need, GPS, toll passes, adding an extra driver, and fueling deals that benefit them and not you. It's just a matter of time till rental car companies charge you extra to put lugggage in the trunk or people in the back seat. If we start to see this happening, I want credit for the idea and a piece of the profits.
8. Obstetrics nurses cannot diagnose shingles unless your legs are spread and you're pushing them out of your birth canal. That's the last time I bring one along on vacation for healthcare purposes.
7. Regardless of how they make me feel, I will continue to go on roller coasters simply because I refuse to believe I'm too old for roller coasters.
6. When visiting the ER, even if you've only broken your toe, suggest that you might also happen to have a contagious disease. They find a room for you real quickly that way.
5. Traveling with friends may be the only way for us to go from here on. My children didn't fight, I didn't nag as much, and Rob didn't lose his temper once. I know it makes it seem like we don't want to be alone as a family, just the four of us. And that's about right.
4. Vacation ownership (a.k.a. "timeshare") sales reps are the devil's spawn. They make rental car agents look like nursery school teachers. I think crying, screaming, or throwing up on their desk is the only way to get them to stop with the hard sell. I'd rather spend the afternoon with a used car salesman, or (shudder) an accountant.
3. The world's longest lasting red lights are in Orlando.
2. The weather is always nicest on the day you're flying home.
1. Shingles makes psoriasis look like a walk in the park.

P.S. If you're really into gross stuff, I can send you a picture of my neck and ear. It kinda looks like rotting flesh. Neat, huh!

Not Feeling the Love, People

What we have here is a failure to communicate. Actually, I am communicating just fine. You, on the other hand, apparently have nothing to say. So what is it? Have my posts lately been too serious? Depressing? Boring? The only reader I've heard from recently is my pastor. That's a bad sign. Maybe I've been too religious or conflicted in my faith? I just don't know how to please you people.  And you know how sensitive I am. You know everything I do I do it for you for recognition.

Lately my bruxism (teeth grinding and clenching) has been so bad that I've had terrible aching in both sides of my neck and shooting pains in my right ear. Bruxim is caused by stress. I don't want to make you feel bad, but that stress is directly related to you never leaving a comment on my blog. It has nothing to do with being the mother of a teenager, or any of the other issues that have made me so angry of late. Nope, it's all your fault.

I'm afraid I'm going to have to take some time off from this blogging thing and let you decide if you miss me and want me back. And if you think I'm being harsh and that you don't deserve this, just imagine what it was like to date me. Rob was heavily into drugs when he proposed.

Before I sign off, I'm going to leave you with a new volume of HARO (Help a Reporter Out) "Weird Requests." Then, I'm outta here. Unless I hear from at least 50 25 10 5 of you, begging me to stay, I'm never coming back. Farewell, cruel blogosphere!

Top 10 Weird Requests from HARO (Help a Reporter Out )

1. What should women eat to shed pounds?  I'm going to go out on a limb here and say "Less."
2. Stressed relationships & arguing during Halloween  Seriously? Your relationship is in real trouble if you argue over costumes and what kind of candy to give the trick-or-treaters.
3. Men willing to talk about menopausal partners  Better make those men sign a waiver because you know there is a strong possibility of bodily harm should their menopausal partner find out about this little "talk."
4. How do dogs celebrate outside the USA? I confess, I didn't realize that American dogs have their own way of celebrating. But then, I've never been invited to one of their parties.
5. Need diapering expert for major parenting website  Just goes to show you that everyone can be  an expert in something.
6. Have ghosts damaged something in your home? So the kids were telling the truth when they both said "I didn't do it!"?
7. Knife expert needed for Playboy Magazine This may represent a whole new level of kinky I just don't want to know about.
8. Embarrassing parents/mates/family Really, they needed to put out a search for this? Just ask the guy in the next cubicle over. There's an embarrassment in every family.
9. Is this a bad time to be a clown?  There's nothing funny about that.
10. How has your life changed since you had a baby? Not at all, really. Though there is this little alien creature who occasionally cries and seems to want my attention. Not sure what that's all about...

You know what you need to do now, right?

Kicking and Screaming and Nearer My God to Thee

We didn't have many traditions in our family when I was a kid. There was nothing particularly unique about our holiday celebrations. We didn't have a special way of celebrating birthdays. No stories were told around the campfire (probably because we didn't go camping). My parents didn't sweat it when I chose to skip college and grad school graduation ceremonies, or when I decided to write my own wedding vows, or when I opted to keep my family name instead of taking Rob's. I guess I'm just not a traditional kind of girl.

There is, however, one Shimer tradition that has carried over to my family:

The Sunday pre-church meltdown. 

When I was a kid, there was something about trying to get all four of us to church that resulted in rather unChristian-like behavior. Our church was about a half-hour away and my parents were big into punctuality. This meant we were always rushing around at the last minute, becoming stressed out and irritable in the process. By the time we got in the car no one was speaking. If we were lucky, our iciness toward each other slowly thawed during Sunday school and the church service. It was an experience you knew would repeat itself each and every Sunday. The result was that going to church was preferable only to going to the dentist.

The church that Rob, the kids, and I attend is about eight minutes away and I'm the only one who cares about punctuality. The three of them are always taking their good old time and I become stressed out and irritable waiting for them. We've I've been known to spiral downward into yelling, threatening, demanding, and bribing, while Rob prefers quietly seething or being the funny guy to break the tension. As for the kids, they react with whining, pleading, pouting, and sulking. By the time we get in the car, no one is speaking and you know the experience will repeat itself next Sunday. You see the similarities here?

Well, in an effort to break with the Sunday pre-church meltdown tradition, I have made the unquestionably most likely wrong decision to no longer beg bribe cajole require my children to go to Sunday school or church. Despite being an elder and a former Sunday school teacher, and although I know it looks bad to others, I just can't handle the fight that's involved. It's not so much a case of "picking my battles," as it is about the state of mind I find myself in after the battle. As you know or can probably guess, I'm an open book with my emotions and I don't need to bring that scary face to church.

This past Sunday was a case-in-point. Abby decided at the very last minute (I literally was already in the car) that she would come to church with us. She was wearing the clothes she slept in and I've seen rat's nests that looked better than her hair. My anger (which we already know is at maximum capacity these days) did not subside through the entire service. I was so frustrated with her I told her she shouldn't go up for communion looking the way she did. I know, I know. God would not approve of my behavior. He was perfectly happy seeing Abby in church regardless of how she looked.

I am really at a loss as to how to get my children to church, a place I love dearly, without going through the Sunday morning ordeal. I'm already preparing myself for next year when Ian has confirmation class. I've told him he's going whether he likes it or not, but that will in no way keep him from giving me grief about it each and every Sunday. I realize I can deny my children the things they most enjoy unless they accompany me, but that seems like a great way to ensure that they despise the mere thought of church.

I can't be the first church-going mom to deal with this, so I'm open to eager for desperately seeking your advice. What's worked for you?

I'm Mad as Hell

I do not count anger management issues among my many character flaws. But maybe I should make that past tense, because lately I've been angry a lot. In fact my chi is so outta whack I haven't even felt like writing for my stupid blog. See what I mean?

My anger may have been awakened by the spectacular collapse of the Phillies in the post-season. If they hadn't choked, I would've been in Texas last week, enjoying a nice juicy steak before rooting on the team at the World Series. Instead, I'm in Wallingford with a pain in my neck. Literally. The left side of my neck has been bugging me. I'm sure it would have felt fine if I was in Texas.

While we're on the subject of the Phillies, it ticked me off today to see Jimmy Rollins post on Facebook that he's psyched that the Series is going to game 7. Excuse me? I don't think the Phillies players should be allowed to even watch the Series, much less get excited about it.

And it's not just the Phillies I'm angry with. Parenting my kids is also making me crazy. Sometimes it feels so damn difficult that I just want to throw up my hands and say "You're on your own, kid. I have no idea what I'm doing here." And because I feel so overwhelmed and under-qualified, their mere presence can make me want to scratch somebody's eyes out. The other night, a dead laptop battery (the fault of a certain child) resulted in my throwing things and slamming doors. The only positive in that scenario was that I only threw clothing, nothing that could break. My anger apparently has financial limits.

Next on my list of anger targets? Book buyers. Specifically Christian book buyers. Where are they? Why aren't they buying really solid Judson Press titles? I'm doing everything in my marketing power to promote them and still the needle's not budging. What do I have to resort to, a naked clergy calendar? That might work, actually. If any of my pastoral readers are interested, let me know (but don't send naked pictures unless requested).

And what's with the freakin' government? Why, based on false assumptions, did we fight an unwinnable war that killed nearly 5,000 of our soldiers? Why do we take care of the world before we take care of our own citizens? Why am I paying into Social Security and Medicare when all signs point to it not being there for me when I retire? Why does it seem the whole system is going to hell in a hand basket and I don't think anyone has a clue what to do about it?

But Phillies, kids, book buyers, and the government aside, I think I'm mostly angry at God these days. It's new territory for me and it's not a good place to be. I'm angry at God because He continues to make life most difficult for those who least deserve it. Yesterday a colleague died after battling brain cancer for several years. He was in his early 50s and leaves behind three children. And my dear friend Ann, also a victim of brain cancer, continues to fight for her life while her husband and nine-year-old son can only pray. Truth be told, I'd like God to wipe out some of the bad guys with this cancer shit, and leave the good ones alone. He can tell the difference, can't He?

I guess I owe you an apology. I shouldn't have dumped all that on you, but I suppose it may help to get it off my chest. Just to be safe, it's probably best to keep dishes and glassware out of my reach for a while.

I'll try to be cheerier next time. Promise.

Freaky Tuesday

Last Tuesday was Freaky Friday. You know, the movie where the mom and the daughter switch bodies and roles (back when Lindsay Lohan had a career)? That happened with Abby and me. I have to admit I've seen it coming. Along with all her impressive qualities, Abby also is a control freak bossy enjoys being in charge. Just ask her brother. She routinely hounds bitches at instructs suggests ways for him to get his shit together improve the way he does things, even something as trivial as refilling water bottles.

Signs that Abby's need to run the household control things was getting a bit out of hand occurred a couple weeks ago when she informed me, after my directive, that she would not bring in the garbage cans from the street because, "That's Ian's job. He's the boy." There are two problems with that statement:

1. Assigning gender roles is not appropriate for the girl who wants to be the first female president of the United States.
2. I'm the mom and I'm pretty sure that I'm supposed to be in control around here, not her.

When I explained this, she pointed out that Ian should do it because, "It's the only exercise he gets." Clearly I need to watch what I say around her.

But let me set the stage for Freaky Tuesday. Here's a brief summary of events leading up to our official role reversal: 

1. Sunday night, our usual routine. Abby goes to bed. I tuck her in and kiss her goodnight.
2. Monday morning, I decide on the spur of the moment that I'm going to visit my parents that evening. I pack an overnight bag so I can leave directly from work. 
3. Abby is still asleep when I leave for work.
4. I spend Monday night at my parent's house. Talk to Abby briefly on the phone.
5. I spend most of Tuesday with my parents. When I arrive home around 5:00 p.m., Abby is at soccer practice. 
6. I leave home at 6:20 p.m. for a meeting at church.
7. Abby arrives home from soccer around 6:45 p.m. that evening.
8. I call Abby from church around 8:00 p.m. to tell her my meeting is over but that I need to get together briefly with a couple of people. I will be home in about an hour. 

And that's when the switch occurs:

Abby:  [Heavy sigh] You're never home anymore. I haven't seen you in forever.  

Mom: [Guilt ridden; realizing it's been almost 48 hours] You're right. I'm sorry. I'll come home now.

Abby: Nooo, it's okay. Go ahead.

Mom:  No, really. I'm coming home.

Abby: (Laying on thick layers of guilt) Noooo. Just do what you have to do.

Mom: Are you sure?

Abby: Yes. I'll see you when you get home.

I have a confession to make. The part I left out of my conversation with Abby was that I was going to "meet with a couple people" at Iron Hill Brewery. For a beer. Now granted, they were from my church committee, and we were possibly probably going to discuss church stuff, but still... It hit me that I had become the teenager, out with my friends, while Abby had become the mom, complaining about never seeing her daughter anymore and laying on the guilt big time.

While a large part of me enjoys the mere thought of being the kid again and thus having no grown-up responsibilities, I'm pretty sure that some day very soon, Abby and I will swap roles again. And I'll be waiting in vain to spend time with my daughter because she's too busy with her friends.